


Cradle of Wreckage

by Elle_gy



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Acid Tokyo, Angst, Love/Hate, M/M, Violence, WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN, nothing healthy, sensual violence, so is fuuma, subaru's asleep and Kamui's a shit, won't lie about that one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:58:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5514770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elle_gy/pseuds/Elle_gy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Subaru sleeps and Kamui makes a friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_The first time he fights Fuuma, Kamui nearly loses an eye._

He had been distressed upon his arrival to Tokyo, but not distressed enough to forget the feeling of flesh beneath his talons. He defended the reservoir with unrestrained violence. When those malleable humans finally decided to call him their leader, he defended them with a similar ferocity. Not that he needed to expend _too_ much effort – his fingers slice through his enemies’ bodies like a blade through the water.

_The first time he fights Fuuma, Kamui bruises a rib or two._

Kamui takes it upon himself to investigate breeches in their territory. Often he only finds wandering squatters or half-mad men whom he leaves largely alone, but sometimes he discovers hostiles making their way closer to the boon beneath their tower. He always enjoyed these types of extermination missions if only for the rare feedings he indulges in afterwards.

His human associates have learned to let him investigate alone. He whizzes across the ruins, enjoying the feeling of solid earth pushing up against his feet. A report had come to him detailing a tall, unidentified but well-armed man making his way across the southern borders of his area. Already twin levels of anticipation and apprehension overwhelm him as he bounds through the acid drizzles.

_The first time he fights Fuuma, Kamui breaks all his fingers._

Tall, Kamui reckons, is an understatement. The man is confidently propped up against a jutting beam in a valley of white powder wreckage. His arms are folded against his chest, but even so Kamui can make out the outlines of guns beneath his jacket. He is broad shouldered, well built, _giant,_ and judging by the patch on his sleeve – an enemy.

Kamui approaches quietly, but with no serious intention of stealth. The man picks up on his sharp little footsteps and assesses him through dark tinted sunglasses.

“Hey,” He says with a one-sided grin, “What brings you out here?”

Despite the nonchalance in both his manner and demeanor, Kamui has learned to identify the slope of a liar’s smile. He is immediately on edge.

Kamui stops at a safe distance from him. He allows the stranger’s words to settle and fester before responding, “You are trespassing. You are aware of this.”

The stranger chuckles loudly and stretches his arms above his head. He drops them and sidles forward a step, grinning openly at Kamui.

“Just thought I’d come and see how you guys live in paradise. Isn’t much better here, actually -”

“You have ten minutes to remove yourself from our territory before I forcible evict you.”

This time the stranger chortles openly before leisurely rolling his shoulders. His gaze is much more scalding that his tongue.

“You must not know who I am.”

Oh, but Kamui _does._ Rumors precede him entirely.

“Fuuma.” Kamui manages to grit out, battling his rising temper. “I can’t say that I’m impressed.”

He looks blank, almost taken aback, before allowing his eyes to roam all over Kamui. His grin grows into a leer.

“Likewise, Kamui”

Kamui spares little strength from the first punch he throws at Fuuma’s face. He’s solidly blocked, which is annoying, but the small huff Fuuma gives upon contact is almost worth it. Fuuma responds with a powerful sideswipe that barely catches Kamui in the side.

Fuuma’s responses are incredibly fast and strong – almost inhumanely so.   But Kamui has long since lost any concern for _humanity._

He lets his nails grow long and deadly. This elicits yet another _shit eating_ grin from his enemy. Fuuma draws two weapons out from his shirt sleeves. Not the guns Kamui was expecting (which might have been problematic, really) but two sharp hooks extending from cords. The fight resumes, physical and rough in their cradle of ruins. Their erratic movements grow fiercer and faster as their range of motion extends.

Kamui draws the first blood deep with a talon to Fuuma’s thigh. With a snarl, Fuuma grabs Kamui’s offending hand and crushes it in his palm.

“You are stronger than you look.” Fuuma whispers close and course into Kamui’s ear.

“Likewise.” Kamui spits, before punching Fuuma square in the jaw with his free hand.

Even before his injured hand starts healing, Kamui’s other is crushed in a tangle of cords. He pays Fuuma back with a bony knee to the gut. Fuuma topples over with a grunt, but drags Kamui down with him by his throat.

Fuuma forcibly rolls Kamui underneath him and uses both hands to stretch a cable taut against his throat. As soon as he looks down in supposed victory, self-satisfaction written in his vain sneer, he feels a razor edged talon prod at his jugular.

Both breathe hard as they evaluate their stalemate. The drizzle of rain has begun to increase, each drop stinging Kamui’s skin with a tiny hiss. Water trickles down the end of Fuuma’s nose and runs down his neck. The concrete beneath them shudders as the acid water paints scars into its surface.

“Get off.” Kamui says. Fuuma obliges. Both rise shakily to their feet.

Fuuma allows the predatory sharpness of his demeanor to recede a little. He shrugs and grins again. “Let’s do that again sometime!” He says in a mockingly cheerful manner that makes Kamui sick.

“Let’s not.”

Fuuma chortles. The dimensional witch chortles. Subaru sleeps ever on.


	2. Second Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But Fuuma has made a basic mistake, really. It confirms Kamui’s suspicions that Fuuma is very, very stupid.

_The second time Kamui fights Fuuma, the footing is much less even._

Though Kamui would argue that a God among humans has every right to move as he pleases, he supposes by this world’s standards he is trespassing. The rain is falling hard enough to hurt even his skin, so he dashes between abandoned buildings and lofted wreckage. He’s ventured further than he intended to, especially in this hissing downpour, but the trip was hardly planned.

_He’s angry – seething – more so than he’s been since he first arrived around a year ago. In a battle for territory THAT THEY’D LOST the enemy leader had goaded him with sneers of ‘delicate princess’ and ‘fairy boy’ coupled with the unfortunate fact that THEY DIDN’T WIN and Kamui wasn’t strong enough TO BEAT THAT MOTHERFUCKER on what should have been their GODDAMN TERRITORY in the first place and WHO the FUCK calls him a fairy boy does he know WHAT they hell he’s talking to and why aren’t my DAMNED LIMBS obeying me everybody just shut up just SHUT UP-_

_“Kamui.”_

_Kakyo. It was always only ever Kakyo._

_“You need to eat.”_

_Only Kakyo can get away with speaking to him like that. And probably only because the tired circles under his eyes reminds him of Subaru._

_Kamui digs his nails into the dilapidated wooden desk beneath him but says nothing. He has lived too many lives to give into the temper tantrum boiling beneath his skin._

_“It’s been too long.”_

_Kamui breathes deeply. And again. And again._

_“Very well.” His voice is low, quiet. He does not look Kakyo in the face. “You’re in charge while I’m gone.”_

_He takes long and quickened strides past Kakyo towards the window in the wall. Without a glance backwards, he throws the window open and takes a step into the sky._

He hasn’t sensed a soul since his departure. This would usually make him angry more than worried, but the empty pain starting to turn his limbs has him concerned. He is no stranger to the feeling, but it has been centuries since the last time he experienced it to such a degree.

_“I don’t know what they told you in your dimension, child,” Subaru scolded coldly, “but vampires are not immortal. If you do not eat, you will die.”_

It’s with a little apprehension that he begins a dash into Fuuma’s territory. The oaf of a man, he hopes, is more sympathetic to squatters. He might be able to pick up a snack on the outskirts.

He’s making a dash underneath the ribcage of a train station when he feels the moist crawl of eyes on his back. He doesn’t indulge the fear, though, and pushes forward a little faster –

It’s very good, he reckons, that his pursuer is a shit shot. He most certainly is in no shape to dodge the bullet that grazes the back of his neck. As soon as he feels the searing kiss on his skin, he turns, lunges and ducks behind an overturned kiosk.

“My my, what do we have here?”

Kamui doesn’t need to look to know who’s leering at him from across the empty hall. He groans and clutches his head, frustrated that he couldn’t even sense _Fuuma’s_ presence in his current capacity.

“Did you come all this way just to visit me?”

He wants to ignore him, or at the very least respond with something a little mature, but as he feels his body tiredly pulling the nutrients off his very bones to try and plug the leaking hole on the back of his neck, all he can yell is “Fuck you, Fuuma!”

“Mmm, that isn’t very nice at all-.”

Kamui isn’t in a very nice mood. After much (not all that much, actually) deliberation, he decides that the only way to make it out of this one is to run away as fast and far as possible. Not the bravest thing he’s ever done, of course, but Subaru’s life is worth more than his pride. He sees another ancient kiosk, still standing, to his left, and throws his body at it with all his remaining strength. It topples loudly, and Kamui hopes this is enough of a distraction to make an escape.

Kamui runs, stumbling, forward to the exit at the far end of the hall. If he can make it outside, into the acid downpour, he hardly thinks Fuuma will think it wise to follow him –

Kamui feels something cold and sharp circle around his ankle right before he is yanked backwards and slid harshly along the cracked marble floor. His hands find purchase on beam and he is able to shake his foot out of the cable extending from Fuuma’s sleeve, but the man has a gun trained on his head, and has dragged him into a range that would make missing him a little more difficult.

“I expected a bit more from you, Kamui. Feeling a little under the weather today, are we?”

Kamui sneers up at him but says nothing. He searches for an exit, anywhere, but decides the only way out of this is to make Fuuma less conscious.

“Let’s have a little chat, shall we? Our last little rendezvous was so short, after all.”

“Do you always talk like an asshole?”

Fuuma blinks slowly. For a brief second, Kamui can trace the bewilderment on his face. It is gone quickly, though, and Fuuma’s grip tightens around the handle of his gun.

“And here I thought it was a myth, that vampires have no manners.”

“You should really stop that.”

“Stop what?” The smoothness in Fuuma’s voice is starting to deteriorate.

“Are you an idiot? Talking like an asshole.”

Kamui can see a distant fury in Fuuma’s eyes and he knows he’s pushing too far. He’s never been good with talking to people, and certainly not those as self-satisfied as Dickhead over there. But instead of pondering his shortcomings, he takes the opportunity to launch himself out of the path of a bullet.

A rain of shots follows him, but a flood of adrenaline gives him superior speed. He rockets around and towards the giant menace, and with the strength of his muscles and his motion, lands a solid punch to the side of Fuuma’s jaw. The force of it knocks both he and Fuuma back.

The final bout of adrenaline has worn off, and Kamui pulls himself to his feet in a shaky mess and dodges to the right. A cable follows him and whips overhead. He doubles back, looking for an opening for another direct attack, but is surprised to see Fuuma already on his feet and again pointing his gun at him –

A bullet rips through the soft skin on his side and buries itself in his abdomen. Kamui turns away, stumbling, and attempts to run even as his vision begins to blur.

A steel cable coils around Kamui’s torso, pinning his arms to his sides, and tugs him backwards viciously. He hits the ground hard, and as he is slid backwards, both his abdomen and his head leave red iron smears on the floor.

He stops at Fuuma’s feet. A heavy boot comes down on his chest and stays there. Fuuma looks down at him with a grin.

“You healed faster last time, little monster.”

Kamui opens his mouth to respond with something cheeky, but Fuuma kneels down and grabs his jaw with crushing force.

“Save it. You’ll need all your energy for talking back at headquarters.”

Fuuma collects Kamui in his arms before roughly throwing him over his shoulder. Kamui can’t help but let out a little grunt as Fuuma’s shoulder digs into his bullet wound.

Fuuma begins moving towards the exit, where there is surely some form of transportation waiting to take Kamui right into the center of enemy territory in enemy hands. And that motherfucker. Fuuma. Starts fucking _whistling._

But Fuuma has made a basic mistake, really. It confirms Kamui’s suspicions that Fuuma is very, very stupid. The idiot is carrying a vampire. A very hungry vampire. A very hungry vampire with a very functional mouth.

Not that Kamui would even consider resorting to this under normal circumstances, mind, but he considers this to be pretty close to a worst case scenario. So, he takes a deep breath in through the nose, closes his eyes, and sinks his teeth into the center of Fuuma’s back.

Blood floods Kamui’s mouth and Fuuma lets off a low shriek. Kamui is thrown away forcefully, but a chunk of Fuuma’s flesh rips off in his mouth. Even as he hits the ground, cables loose and falling from his body, the wound on his head has knit itself together and the bullet wound is closed around the foreign piece of metal. Kamui stands and spits out Fuuma’s skin with disdain.

“You taste _vile.”_ He lies.

“You _bitch.”_ Fuuma seethes, and fires again. But Kamui’s speed has returned to him and the world is righted and clear. He dodges with ease and flies toward the exit, his only discomfort the blasted bullet prodding him from beneath his skin.

“This isn’t over!” Fuuma howls as Kamui approaches the door. “Still talking like an asshole!” Kamui yells back, without even turning to acknowledge Fuuma’s fuming face.

By the time he gets back to the city hall, only the watch and Kakyo are still awake. Kakyo’s face pales as he takes in Kamui’s appearance, face stained with blood, garments shredded by cables, a hole in the front of his shirt but not the back.

“Kamui, are you al-”

“There’s a bullet in me.”

Kakyo groans. “What? How?”

“I need you to get it out.”

“That’s going to be a difficult thing to do, it will just keep healing over-.”

“Make Yuto help.”

And thus, with a somewhat grumpily awake Yuto, Kamui finds himself on a cot with both apprehensive men hovering over him. Kakyo holds a scalpel in his hand and Yuto pushes up the edge of Kamui’s ruined shirt.

“Kakyo, make the cut,” Kamui explains indifferently, “Yuto, hold the cut open until Kakyo can get the bullet out.”

“Shouldn’t we at least deaden the area?” Kakyo asks, exasperated. “Don’t waste the medicine.” Kamui responds.

With slightly trembling hands, Kakyo lays the scalpel down to where Kamui points. “Go.” Kamui says, and Kakyo drags the knife through his skin.

Kamui whistles a breath in through his nose. Yuto immediately digs his fingers into the cut and tugs it wide open without hesitation. Kamui knew Yuto would be a good choice.

Kakyo prods delicately at the wound, searching through the raw flesh, and says, “Kamui, I don’t see it in here-.”

“Deeper.” Kamui hisses through his teeth. His next breath is shuddering and he lets out a low moan as the blade cuts in, this time an inch deeper. Yuto’s fingers wiggle down further, inciting the pulsing wound further and keeping the flesh from growing together again. Kakyo hesitates and a crown of sweat gathers on Kamui’s forehead.

“Kakyo.” He chides in a breathless plea.

“Sorry. Right.” Kakyo digs around this time and fingers brush on jagged metal.

“I found it.” He looks at Kamui for confirmation.

“Oh for fucks sake…AHH!”

Yuto yanks out deformed bullet with a tug. Chunks of Kamui’s flesh and droplets of blood fly off with it, some still hanging to the metal and others splattering about the room. As soon as it is out, the wound begins to close with a deep ache. Kamui clutches at it and throws his head back, eyes clenched shut and a low groan ringing at the back of his throat.

It is over quickly, though, and Kamui lays on the cot spent and tired. A trembling Kakyo looks down at him and Yuto fingers the metal in his hand.

“I’ll get rid of this.” He mumbles and stands to leave.

“No.” Kamui says, and holds out his hand. Yuto drops in into his outspread fingers.

“I have to give it back.”

 

 


	3. Third Fight

III. Third Fight

_The third time Kamui fights Fuuma, nobody throws any punches._

Kamui doesn’t like mornings. In fact, Kamui loathes mornings. And Kamui definitely doesn’t want to spend any of his fucking mornings on the phone. More specifically, Kamui doesn’t ever want to have a dandy little fucking chat on the piece of shit phone with fucking Fuuma at five in the motherfucking morning.

His already dangerous morning mood goes completely black when Nataku prods him awake with the cold end of the receiver.

“Tower group” is all Nataku says before leaving the device lying next to Kamui’s head. He knows well enough make haste and be gone.

Kamui grabs the clunky thing with one hand and holds it to his ear. “The fuck do you want?”

“Morning, sunshine!” Fuuma. His shitty-ass field of fucking flowers voice makes Kamui nauseous.

“Go to hell.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say first thing in the morning to me-”

“Are you calling to surrender territory?”

“Of course not, my dear-”

“Then I’m hanging up.”

“You’re like a child, you know.”

“Am I though? At least I don’t scream like a bitch from a little bite to the back.”

Kamui can hear Fuuma taking a deep, barely controlled breath in from his nose, and that improves his mood a slight bit.

“Let’s talk a little business,” Fuuma says somewhat cordially, “shall we?”

“…no.” Kamui moves to hang up again.

“Wait! This might be in your interests, my dear -”

“Call me by my fucking name, or don’t call me at all.”

“Are you always this salty?” Fuuma is starting to sound exasperated, which is nice.

“Are you always this much of a shit?”

Fuuma sighs. “I’m going to take that as a yes.” After a brief pause, during which Kamui figures Fuuma is collecting himself or recharging his bitch-o-meter or whatever, he resumes, “I’m calling to seek a potential temporary truce - ”

“Denied.”

“- in the face of a mutual enemy.”

Kamui once again pauses in his actions to slam the antiquated phone down on its switch hook.

“…which ‘mutual enemy’?”

“Ah, I see I have your interest now –” Fuuma responds with a little cheekiness creeping back into his voice.

“Cut the shit. Explain yourself.”

“When will you learn that poor language is not the best way to get what you want, my dear?” Dear god, he sounds like the worst kind of smug bastard.

“Well if a truce is what _you_ want, you aren’t gonna get it unless you get to the fucking point.”

“Fine. We have intel that a large, well-organized group from the North is planning a campaign into the city.”

Kamui snorts. “I highly doubt that just a _group from the North_ warrants a truce with a weak-ass group like yours.”

“…we have…more intelligence, but I would prefer to discuss the intricacies of this arrangement further in person. And in private.”

“What, do you expect me to come marching into your headquarters, expecting a warm welcome and a friendly little chat?” Because all Kamui can really envision is some sort of ill-purposed trap in the middle of hostile territory.

“I’m not so naïve as to suggest that to you. I maintain a room on neutral ground, over in the Amagi buildings. You have my word that I’ll come alone.”

“Your word isn’t worth shit, Fuuma.”

“Fine then, you have,” Fuuma pauses, “uh…,” Kamui hears the shuffle of a chair and some muffled yelling, “there’s this lady here – here she is. Karen! You have her word, too.” Kamui can hear a high-pitched sound of agreement. “You wouldn’t mistrust a lady, would you?”

Fuuma pauses, and Kamui can _hear_ the anticipation through the line. But Kamui smiles warmly as he thinks about Karen in all the worlds that he’s met her in. If the Karen here is like anyone of her other selves, then she really, really deserves a better lot than this.

“If Karen swears it,” he starts slowly, “then I’ll accept.”

“I do,” she says quietly, but finally loud enough for Kamui to hear it clearly, “I do swear it.”

“Great!” Fuuma sounds overenthusiastic and probably a little shell-shocked. “Midday today?”

“If this is a trap, Fuuma, I’ll turn you into fucking worm-bait.”

“Now now, dearest, there won’t be any need for that.”


End file.
